


I am no Hero

by InYourDreamsBirdboy



Series: The Purple Tangram [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Flirting, Bat drama, Bat puns, Blood and Torture, Canon Dialogue, Canon Divergence, Emotional Baggage, Mild Language, Multi, Not gonna lie this is gonna hurt, Pre New52, Secrets, Slow Burn, Spoiler centered, Teen Angst, a few characters from New52, also Beware the Batman (I mean Bruce Wayne), and special guest Alfred the Batler, batfam, legacy, title by Bob Feller because of reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-18 10:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11288955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InYourDreamsBirdboy/pseuds/InYourDreamsBirdboy
Summary: The Batcave’s system has been compromised from the outside and someone’s messing with Batman’s protégé. What do they want? Or why are they doing it? Are the questions that pop inside his head and though he has no clue about it, he'll try to find it out.





	1. Chapter 1

**239 hours to Rubicon**

A low beep began as a heartbeat that’s been asleep for a decade while shy flashes of red lit the control area, but the only person around ignored them, focused instead on fixing the electromagnetic pads in the soles of his combat boots.

He was busy gearing up his suit for some quality, the welding sending sparks into his lap that would make winced a normal person but he disregarded them too; steel-eyes locked on the task ahead while the sharp beeping became louder.

The guardians of the cave –aka bats- took flight in a crammed cloud flapping their wings frantically to be far from the buzzer and just like that, the soft swirl of fur brushed the top of the masked boy’s head in their way to the exit, forcing him to finally poke it out from his worktable.

The sight was something new; somewhat unexpected. And the alarm only kept growing, playing a regular tune -akin to a skirl hard to ignore- though as fast as it began, it ended; _no more light-shows, no more din._

The boy dropped the tools and rose from his seat absorbed by the alarm.

“It can’t be a coincidence…” he mumbled and reached the panels of the main computer in two strides. It was supposed to be a calm night of winter not—

Expert fingers ran through the keyword as the orders were tapped swiftly, searching for the trigger, the source. _Anything!_

“Computer,” he summoned still surprised. “What set it in motion?”

One by one the causes were displayed on the main screen and read by the VI’s artificial voice. His heartbeat increasing slightly with each new addition of security breaches and he navigated through the data -just as fast as the list engrossed within seconds; the longer it took him the heavier a ball of dread invaded his body.

_It’s not a coincidence at all. The alarm; the causes… it all has the same pattern, the same trail. It has to be my--_

“OUR INTRUDER HAS BROKEN THE SECURITY SYSTEM,” the VI mouthed his suspicions and he sighed, both hands stopping the hammering commands.

_You._

A headache formed behind his eyes –not even the mask could lessen the pounding- and he shook his head to dispel the gathering pain.

It was bad enough to have a breach, moreover to have a trespasser surfing freely through their files. And this one, in particular, wasn't welcome at all. The intruder had toyed with him before -long and hard- gifting Batman’s protégé with a massive crisis on his own that no one else knew about.

“OUR INTRUDER IS STILL IN THE SYS—”

“Where?!” Tired of _cat and mouse_ games he just shouted, cutting the VI as he searched for himself, chasing clues hidden within their algorithm.

_How many times have we played this?_

It has been an unsuccessful hunting since he set a foot on the cave by himself and whatever things he did to stop the hack, it never ended well for him.

The outsider –someone still untraceable - knew exactly where to look at, and how to get the boy’s full attention. Their little war became personal since almost the beginning but the young vigilante kept it a secret; never even talked about the incidents with his family –much less with his mentor. And pretty sure he was regretting it after this long but their unspoken battle was only between them, like an arm wrestling contest in which he’d been defeated too many times…

_Not again!_

“Computer, run a System Diagnostic. I wanna know what they want and--”

ZLOPP!

The main screen turned black and with it, all the devices went off on a total blackout. He looked around concerned because the entire place was prepared to face any problem -power cuts included- thus meaning his biggest foe was taking their banter further.

“Shit…”

Gloved fists hit the console and he proceeded to curse inwardly -and outwardly as well. The forbidden words filling mind and space in a way nobody should witness.

_Why me?! Why am I the target and not the others?_

The very moment he was left alone in the cave; the intruder didn’t waste a second to play tricks with him; grueling in a tetchy way.

“Shit!”

Seconds became minutes leaving the place in a state of pure darkness. So hostile, so unfriendly. The intruder was in control once again and no internal discussion could save him from the imminent torture coming his way.

“SHIT!”

He turned the lenses of his mask into night vision mode and perished his surroundings. The silence settling an unyielding pressure in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to scream, to rage. But he would not let his weakness control him.

_No…_

He froze, trying to breathe against the lump in his throat. He was not gonna let his shattered memories of defeat control him this time.

_Not at home._

Because… in the wake of countless disasters and adversities, the cave was the ‘ultimate safe-house.’ So he looked around, looked at a place that remained as a big piece of memorabilia by itself. Gotham’s museums lacked something like this, lacked a piece of the city’s history in which he’s grown up. A dank musty smell always greeted him at the bottom and sometimes the cold could even get into his very bones but he welcomed it, relished any bit of the time he spent at 160 feet above sea-level.

It was his second home after all…

The boy perused the place, walking towards the railing to evaluate the scene from a better angle –not different- analyzing it thoroughly. But nothing seemed out of place or unusual.

A full-size mechanical T-Rex overlooked the middle platform, huge and majestic. In front of it stood the Giant Penny, casting a perfect shadow over the dinosaur’s belly and, only a few steps away rested the huge Joker card that gave him the chills…

Everything looked the same. He tilted his head to the entrance where a set of the vehicles at current use awaited dormant and a remarkable big empty spot from the Batmobile made the collection look incomplete. The boy loved the car, the new design was topnotch and under the hood was hidden a mouthwatering modern engine for those who appreciate cars and such –he did.

At the other side was the hall of trophies that began within the Legend –seemed to meet no end. Showcases piled up to across like there was no room for new ones but their Rogues were a rare kind of disease. One that only grew bigger over time...

“Gadgets and gizmos aplenty (*),” he hummed faintly, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be scanning the place as the thought of Batman singing that song for him flood him–a boy can only dream. Then snapped it out when his eyes flicked at the gallery of the glass cases.

Feeling a lump in his throat, he swallowed hard. A walk among them spoke louder of the perils of the job than any other word from his mentor. Each suit displayed in a case as a reminder of their great service. Good soldiers. All of them. Fallen heroes. Gotham’s finest but for him they were  _all_  family.

“Not the time to go down there…” he reminded himself, hands curling into fists at his sides and jaw clenched. Then mumbled, “I need to think…” spacing the words to weaken the anger that ran through his veins. But it wasn’t an easy task.

He wanted to scream, to yell at someone, to hit something. Not entirely sure if it was because he was being under a siege and wanted the control back, or because his family has become shorter.

It took him a minute to collect himself. He needed to counterattack but with all the tech shut down…

_All except one little thing!_

His wrist computer was out of the System, meaning: there was a small chance to end the entire hacking attack once and for all, and it was at his fingertips.

The boy turned his lenses off to protect his eyes and opened the panel to override his attacker, tapping the code: C-0-U-5-1-N-0-L-1-V-3-R

Granted, it wasn’t the fanciest password in the world but it certainly did its job as a blue floating screen welcomed him.

The synthetic light eased his mind, bringing some peace. His software wasn’t corrupt yet and before the outsider’s tracks went cold, he prioritized the search to shut them down because he was dealing with someone peerless nonetheless.

_No more ‘get me all worked up’ or ‘driving me mad’ with riddles. No fake tracks. No—_

_…_

_Shit!_

_It’s all a trap!_

A loud buzz of white noises toppled him from behind and echoed through the stone walls, sending the remaining bats far away. Cautiously, he turned around, unsettled and nervous.

Why was the outsider doing this to him? Why the torture? Why the trouble?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out the answer because it was displayed on the screens; on all of them.

 **She** was there. _Stephanie Brown._ The Spoiler that vanished in December. The Girl Wonder whose giggle was gone in a flash. The Batgirl that brought back the sunshine to Gotham City…

 _She_ was there. In full screen. Young and stunning. Blonde hair bouncing in soft waves below her shoulders with each move of her body. Her face tilted up to the side, eyes fixed on someone off camera and he stared at her in awe.

“Just stop already!”

The words made him straighten his back and she asked, “Why are we doin’ this anyway?” It came among demurred smiles and was answered certainly by someone, but it was only a video file…

Inch by inch, the boy moved towards the main computer, taking his sweet time. Mesmerized by her presence as she shook her head, slightly conceding some words to the interviewer but he wasn’t listening. Not anymore. He knew every single line of her speech. He’d heard it a thousand times before so he watched her face instead.

The bridge of her nose and cheeks were bathed with sun freckles. A few scars from chicken pox blended with them perfectly and they suited her face as the other little marks and scratches on her skin did too. She showed them with pride. Bared them from any makeup. They were part of her, like merit badges and made her look even more beautiful.

Echoes of her sunny voice brought him back as she leaned forward, looking happy. _Truly._ The gleam in her eyes matched her remarkable grin, never fading away from her bright face and it was so painful to watch…

He ducked his head as a wave of fear and longing overwhelmed him and she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you my story.”

 

 

* * *

 

**A/N**

(1) _Part of Your World_ from The Little Mermaid. Guilty as charged I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

**A long time ago.**

The clickety-clack noise of a keyboard filled the second floor of a small cottage in the middle of Manchester at South Holden St. along newscaster Rodriguez’s (*) voice from WGTM radio channel.

Latest news about a hostage situation ‘burst in,’ or would have because the man’s speech lacked the ups and downs to keep the listeners on the edge of their seats as he blurted the information, failing to spot the headlines more than a blind man to see.

Yes, Rodriguez was struggling to perform the job of his namesake predecessor but he had something good after all: he wasn’t her father.

Arthur’s shadow was hard to overcome. Not only his mild-mannered charming voice still clawed to Stephanie’s mind but to her mother’s as well, uttering threats that they knew very well he would fulfill. Sharp and canny and Godlike. He had still so much control over them…

_If only he had chosen to abide awhile._

Stephanie shook her head at the thought. It was no news that apples seldom fall far from the tree but she was committed to become the exception and not the norm.

All her life revolved around him yet she defied the odds and changed everything. Never fell prey of delinquency, idleness, or hopelessness. Chin up, hands busy. She took care of the house, her mother, and she herself. Learned how to from a young age, and she was doing just fine until Warden Grey put her life upside down with a phone call.

The blonde deeply wished she hadn’t pick it up -it was a childish habit of her developed when she was no higher than a hound dog’s tail on point- but desires never came easily to her. _Nothin’ ever really did_. And when Blackgate Penitentiary informed her about her father’s status as a free man, well… she hid it from her mother.

If the news had made her blood boil and her stomach shrink, what would have done to Crystal?

She didn't want to find it out, nor wanted to risk her mother's progress either. The woman wasn't a hundred percent recovered. Getting back the control of her previous life was something Stephanie didn't hope could work but Crystal proved her otherwise.

_Bellingers… stubborn and strong-willed when in the right company._

Her cheesy essay from school about Heroes could be about the woman if she wouldn’t have needed help half the time. _Gee_ , Steph could have done it in the blink of an eye actually, but those in need weren’t ‘remarkable figures’ or ‘inspiring people’ at all, _were they?_ If something, they were the living reminder of how bad things could end when going astray.

So, _no way!_ Heroes outside oneself were like a fairy tale. _They aren’t real_. And knowing that fueled her anger.

The little girl felt like a fool. Chagrin eating her from the very thoughts and though the feeling didn’t come exactly from her homework, it sure fed the bitter emotion, vexing her to the limit because there was no Hero in her life.

_Not a single one that truly cares about me with no strings attached._

She breathed deeply, leaning back in her chair, eyes scanning the poster in front of her.

Since when did she develop such a need for a Hero? Since when were they so important if she’d never met one in person? Why the anger? _Why bother at all?_

She slapped herself from the ideas -literally. Bright red marks became visible on her face and she was about to return to her homework when Rodriguez demanded her full attention.

 _“Some witnesses claim to have seen the **Batman**  on the scene--”_ the emphasis on the self-proclaimed protector of the night made her turn toward the radio as Rodriguez’ enthusiasm spread through his announce.

A few minutes had passed and she kept listening, her chair had traveled near the 90’s boombox and her hand rested over the volume control.

She did that sometimes when the Batman was mentioned. The clipboard behind her collected all the cases that involved him and the Cluemaster; all the times he had ‘saved’ her in some way. And though she never struck herself as a fan of the Bat -no one in her family did- she appreciated his doing. She really did, but she also was curious about the figure itself and wondered what happened to the man beneath the suit; what motivated him to put his life at risk every night; or if he really was one of the good guys to begin with.

Stephanie wanted to know if the gig was part of his penance, or if the man was even human. And so the questions heaped up unanswered in the back of her head, burning deep into her brain when the former District Attorney distracted her from making new ones by yelling loudly through the speakers.

 _“Gotham is drowning in a cesspool of crime!”_ he roared in a way that showed his visceral hate. _“It’s this city’s shame that a phenomenon like the Batman has arisen. It’s not up to some masked vigilante to–”_

And she didn't let him finish. The blonde turned off the radio. Armand Kroll was a  _bush-league_  pretentious candidate for Mayor that ran his mouth aware of the weight of his words and full of himself. He spat sentences like sharp knives, criticizing the only ones who tried to guarantee people’s safety, and for what?

 _Complaining politicians sure could move crowds but they never got drag into real action._ _Those cowards in suits never move a finger to stop crime. They just tore other’s efforts to gain votes and supporters_ _._

She didn't like them, nor did she stand to their vitriolic discourse for Steph was a girl with a lot of brass in her pants and an indomitable will and…

Something was brewing inside her; something that only she could do.

_Why seek for a Hero outside when I can be my own Hero, like the Batman himself?_

* * *

 

**A/N**

(1) **Newscaster Rodríguez** is Arturo Rodríguez, the one and only. If you’d read about _War_ _Crimes_ , this little guy has a ‘big’ role during Black Mask’s storyline. Don’t want to spoil things for you so I’ll say I’m introducing him first to add a little background to his persona.

(･θ･) **Detective Comics** #647 ~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten this chapter so many times I've lost count of them.

**Spoiler’s first night**

A familiar blonde jumped out of a bus and wrinkled her nose at the side panels that greeted ‘Welcome to Gotham City’ over a daydreamt picture.

 _Whoever conceived that got a lot of nerve,_ she thought, because it required a certain daring to depict the Goat’s trap (*) like the bright Metropolis when there was nothing to point alike between them -even though they were twin cities.

 _Uh-uh_.

Gothamites lacked the blinding lights from where the symbol of Hope rose among. And they could never reach through the thick clouds and polluted air that Stephanie breathed and tasted every day.

_Not even when Hell freezes over._

Hope was foreign in Gotham. An alien akin to Superman himself. And she believed that the growing rogues flooding Blackgate were born out of the four-letter word, just like her father, or any other lowlife who chose that path.

Desperation moved people into the unknown; into the shady corners and vile dwellings. But it also dragged her away from the safe suburbs and deep into the lowest district of all.

_And for what?_

_For hope._

The word was too thick and hard in the middle of her throat while her stomach churned in nervous leaps and bounds as she waded through the so-called _Crime Alley_ , where no one in their right mind would crave for getting stuck by night because America’s best decayed into something foul before the Batman could be considered its dearest Knight or savior – _who cares?_

A mix of anger grew within the girl when she passed the streets where He patrolled and the evil-doers bred.

It was funny, though, how _vigilantes_ could reshape people’s fears but still couldn’t change their cores. Stephanie found the fact amusement as junkies and leather boys sized her up like a piece of meat ignoring the possible punishment they could face from Him.

_Is he aware of his disempowerment?_

She turned a deaf ear to the vicious pervs, disregarding their actions for there was a more pressing issue to attend to than kicking their douchebag asses, but what if something went wrong?

_Better play it cool._

Head covered beneath a purple hood and hands shoved in the front pockets, she switched her gingerly pace to a jog and froze when her destination came into sight. Worn out Chuck Taylor’s glued to the ground and fists pressed against her abdomen, forcing her to lean forward, feeling the pressure steady against her gut.

Everything inside her felt fidgety as if keeping at bay a bunch of wild mogwais (*) and she blamed the nuke dinner for not settling in the pit of her stomach instead of addressing the real cause. _Hell_ if she would admit that! But there was something more and she hit home – _the old one_.

The blonde girl recalled with bemused fondest the fire escape that was her playground once and the kid next door who took care of her as if they were siblings.

Forgotten memories of how they wriggled out easily from the ‘watchful eye’ of their mothers flooded her with a sudden pang, and she felt old as if it had happened ages ago when it had been only five? Six years from then?

_I wonder if he still lives here…_

Her eyes traveled up, counting the stories of the monstrosity ahead, searching for a familiar window as the top emerged from the fog – _still tall, still ugly_.

Their old apartment had the lights on, casting a warm gleam over the staircase, so inviting that she yearned for it, for everything she had lived and experienced and lost in the course of her short life.

 

**Countdown to Rubicon - 160 feet above sea-level**

“Plan was simple,” she said and the masked boy couldn’t stop watching her for Stephanie had a heavy presence -big screen aside- and the way her bright doe eyes shone and danced as she spoke utterly captivated him.

“And it worked like a well-oiled machine in my head.” Plump lips pressed into a thin line, speaking volumes about how wrong she was.

He knew no one more expressive than the woman herself and a faint hint of a smile appeared on his face -empathy claiming the zygomaticus major muscle. She was the Spoiler after all, not only because she ‘spoiled’ the Cluemaster’s plans but because of how she spoiled herself, wearing her heart in the sleeve and having no care to hide it anyway.

_Why would she?_

A soft sigh filled the silence and she ducked her head, folding both hands across her lap as blonde hair shielded her face from the camera angle in a studied pose or not…?

_She wasn’t devious by nature, right?_

“Get there was the first step. The second involved climbing up the fire escape. And the last one was going all batshit crazy to scare my dad...”

Manicured fingers twitched the hem of her shirt and she paused, taking advantage of the blind spot in where she hid to mumble something along the line, _“It had to work, right?”_ but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure if she said so as there wasn't also an image of her lips to be read. And yeah, he had a trained ear and had seen and heard the record a thousand times before but at the end, it wasn’t enough.

Tension built up as the last thing she said hung in the air. His first reaction repeating itself when his young heart hammered furiously. Was it because of the intruder? Or her words? Or both? He couldn’t tell but Stephanie’s voice sank straight into his stomach like a sucker punch, and he felt the oxygen escaping from his lungs, making him bench over the keyboard.

Breath caught in his chest. Burning. Eating him. He knew by heart all the things she was gonna say after the pause and how she would say them.

He knew all her expressions, the way her hands would wave here and there, how often she would laugh to downplay things that were hard to process, how— _Everything!_

He knew her every move but it didn’t make it any easier.

**Filbert St.**

The purple hooded girl shuttered an ‘okay’ while measuring the distance between the ground and the fire escape’s folded ladder.

“Ten feet approx.” Blue eyes flickered from the trash and back to the ladder after the calculation. “You can do this, Steph. You’ve joined the gymnastics team for long enough to be able to reach that easily.”

And she was right. Stephanie had covered that height before, though Coach Lewis (*) was the one helping her and now she was all alone.

_Am I?_

She looked at both sides of the alley searching for curious eyes; then up, to make sure the _good_ gothamites who still had metal trash bins in the 2ks weren’t in the balconies.

There were no looky-loo’s; _zero, zip, nada._

Satisfied, she climbed atop the trash with a hushed thump and flexed her legs a few times; arms swinging back and forth with each move in order to get a power boost. Then jumped.

Less than two feet separated her from the bar and she reached it on her first try - _Atta-me!_ (*) Making the ascending a cinch from there on.

The image of her father being scared occupied her thoughts like a long-awaited reward, and she hastened her climbing. Their old apartment was just one story above her; lights on and local news bumping pretty loud for such hours.

The girl could hear her father swearing to the anchorman –a sound too familiar to be forgotten- and up to speed of his presence, she hid in the wall and peeked inside the living room’s window ever so slightly that not even the psycho-dad could see her.

And there he was, Arthur Brown, the Cluemaster.

He stood near a television in full gear with a beer in hand and his breather mask removed. The disturbing bright orange a pain for the eyes -just as much as his voice irked her very soul.

Back in the day, when he had his own program on the radio, people loved hearing him talk, but Steph? She hated him with all her guts –even more after what he’s done to them -to Crystal.

_If only people knew the things he’s capable of…_

Her mind ran miles away, jumping through memories and nightmares, oblivious to what was happening inside until he turned to the side and she saw red. _Literally_.

Blood painted his face; splattered, in a Pollock _esque_ way. The stains so thick, she could almost smell the rusting iron from them. And Arthur seemed… _content?_ As if he would have done something to be proud of, _but what thing?_

The blonde withdrew from her spot finding shelter in the shadows. Her delusional plan knocked away by a blinding wave of anxiety and she had to fight back a thud of fear in her heart – _who that blood belongs to…?_

She was too caught up in the view, trying desperately to wash it away when something creepiest happened: a handheld camera video was played.

Arthur had transferred the file from his phone to an old laptop and was playing it in full screen. The clip showed a gathering with a gang of petty thieves where the Cluemaster -from behind the camera- proceeded to sweet-talk them with his hideous charm; working wonders the squeamish the subjects were.

The whole thing sent a sick vibe to her, like the bad omen from those indie horror films with the queasicam.

Her self-defense mechanism kicking hard with sarcasm –ever so helpful- as her teeth clenched painfully.

_What’s this?! A rejected plot submission of a Law & Order SVU script about a narcissist maniac with a botchy gig? A freaking joke? Oh, good grief! (*) He’s filming his misdeeds! What’s next, huh? Periscope-ing a score? Becoming a broadcaster in the dark internet?_

The vast display of dry humor kept the girl from throwing up and she couldn’t believe it. The man just got off of Blackgate and hadn’t even set a foot in the streets when he was already too deep down in trouble to back out.

The gore, as well as the Beretta on the table or the myriad bombs and stuff from ‘his’ good old days, piled up with various prints she couldn’t distinguish from afar, proving that this was a heavy case. Heavier than she had expected. But the worst was yet to come…

 _“Cutter,”_ A man from the video approached their ‘leader’ -some phony guy with an eye-patch sporting a bad case of mullets. _“I know this guy. Got a wire down and leaves nutty clues ‘round. We shouldn’t trust him!”_

If her father had a dime for every time someone has said that about him, he certainly wouldn’t be a c-list villain - _that's for sure_. And there was something about the little guy facing him... the poor wretch -whatever his name was- showed more brain than any other crook in that room.

_A pity, though… ‘cause brains prove to get the smartest nowhere—_

_BANG!_

Stephanie covered her mouth trapping a gasp. Her prediction became true. The Cluemaster shot the guy between the eyes. Sadistic, remorseless.

The nameless felon would be pushing up daisies by now; couldn’t even stand a chance to defend himself, because while Arthur was always quick with the _mot_ _juste_ he was faster with actions and Stephanie knew it well. She knew that from experience and was shaking like a leaf in fall, pressing herself against the brick wall to ease the panic attack.

The overwhelming vision etched in her brains -too late for a change of mind- and the thought dawned on her. _How’s that gonna serve him to stay away from prison? To stay away from harming Mom?_

 

* * *

 

**A/N**

**Arthur Brown, the Cluemaster.** If you’d read Stephanie’s first appearance, you’ll notice that she didn’t sneak into their old apartment but spied on her father during his meetings. Then every three days she sent a letter under a different zip code with a puzzle piece of a castle. Twelve pieces. Thirty-six days before her father’s big score in Labor Day. She also let a series of eco-friendly graffiti around Gotham. All that made sense back in 1992 but today? ( >。<)

**Terms**

(1) **Goat’s Trap** : the name Gotham derives from Old English gāt 'goat' and hām 'home', literally ‘homestead where goats are kept.’ The Joker references this etymology in  **Detective Comics #880** , in which he tells Batman that the word means "a safe place for goats", so yup, it doesn’t mean Goat’s trap but let Stephanie thinks so.

(2) **Mogwais** are the creatures from the film Gremlins. The name means "evil spirit" or "devil" in Cantonese.

(3) **Coach Lewis** is a character that appears in **_Showcase 95’ #5_**. Keri Kowalski the writer, established Stephanie’s gymnastics background and works her magic to make her relationship with her mother more appealing. In other words, Crystal’s rehabilitation and subsequent role as a caring person.

(4) **Atta-me!** Stephanie’s way of saying Attagirl! I heard it somewhere before, not in the comics and never in DC, just in other media and thought, why not let her say it?

 (5) **Oh, good grief!** Not sure if anyone would notice this but it’s just my humble tribute to Charlie Brown. I bet Steph grew up reading **_Peanuts_**.

Also, check  ** _Detective Comics #647-649_** for the original work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Filbert St.**

Gotham was chaos itself. Police sirens, loudly neighbors, shots, and riots. The sounds pounded at the core of the rowdy city and only when it became silent people were really worried.

Stephanie knew that; knew that quietness meant trouble -the kind of trouble that she was into right now. New York Symphony could be right beneath her playing Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, using authentic artillery in its percussion section and she wouldn’t even notice. She hardly noticed the anchorman filling in with his own bluffing, shouting words; undaunted; or the grunts of men fighting in the background, nor the dogs barking in the distance.

Every sound faded, muffled, faint instantly, and the only thing that she heard was her father’s wicked laugh drilling its way through her brains.

Someone died in front of her. And though the corpse wasn’t laying down in their old living room, soaking the carpet with blood and gore, the images still burnt in the back of her eyes.

_T-this is n-not happening…_

She backed away from the window, hitting metal as she crouched down on the catwalk and ‘froze’ in her tracks. Did she make any noise? She was almost certain that the trembling platform would rat her out at any second.

“Fuck!”             

She covered her mouth in instinct just after cursing, afraid that perhaps he’d heard her –afraid of his reaction and the consequences.

The blonde was on pins and needles; her state closer to the perpetual terror in which she used to be when Arthur lived with them; when the man locked her in the closet after work. It'd been no so long ago...

What would he do to her if he found her now?

Witnessing her very first snuff movie at barely fourteen was an achievement she wasn’t ready for. And finding out that her own father was the sole perpetrator of the entire thing didn’t help to cope, much less the thought of the repercussions coming her way…

_Why would you do that?!_

Panic struck her like lightning. Chest rising and falling rapidly.

_What were you thinking?!_

Her breathing became erratic and painful as if the air had razors the size of _Froot loops_ , cutting and scratching her lungs.

_What’s wrong with you?!_

All the fears lodged in her throat as she pressed her head against the railing, phasing her lizard brain that attempted to take over her more develop processing area.

_Who the fuck are you?!_

She needed to put herself together -had to- if she wanted to outlast the night but the man she used to call father wasn’t there.

Deep in her gut, she couldn’t recognize him at all.

Arthur Brown was gone. Forever.

Warden Grey warned her through the phone, _‘He’s a freeman but it doesn’t mean he’s free from himself, miss.’_

So why…? Why did she entertain the childish idea that she could scare him into the right path? No wonder Kroll blamed the GCPD… if they knew he wasn't cured… if they… Why did they let him out?

Cluemaster was a racketeer, a wretch! The definition of mischief-maker itself, and now… a murderer _goddammit_!

Her breathing was loud in her own ears and she didn't know what to do; what to expect. Drawing lessons from the mistake of coming there wasn’t an option. She regretted the whole thing; regretted seeing the homicide. But foremost she regretted her lack of courage.

She’d faced bullies before, got a lot of practice on her back but none of them were Arthur.

In the blink of an eye everything had changed because, of course, nothing ever worked the way she wanted, or was in her favor, right? Why would it be now?

Granted it was naïve of her thinking that she could handle her father when the police forces couldn’t restrain him from harming Crystal -she hated staying idle- but Stephanie should’ve thought twice.

Was she able to face him? Much less to take the man down?

All the YouTube videos and self-defense classes she went through since fifth grade could never prepare her to stand in a fight against him and come out on top. But if she didn’t endure it, who would?

Arthur had become a monster, and monsters could only be stopped by other monsters. Big scary ones that worked the night and protected their hideous city; monsters like… the Batman.

 

**Countdown to Rubicon – The Batcave**

Pictures of Old Gotham’s longstanding buildings appeared in the main screen with “cryptic” messages beautifully wrote in the improvised canvas of glass and iron and concrete.

‘Let the puzzlement fit the crime’ was the best one. A word game in a bright water-based paint with a three-story sized that could make W. S. Gilbert sang back from the grave ‘The puzzlement fit the crime!’ Heck, he almost did it himself the first time he saw them. The line piqued his own curiosity and made him go on a deep search about the source too. Was it a coincidence that years later another “bird” went through the same ‘Mikado’ exploration? Who knew? Though if they did... the message lacked her subtle touch.

All the vandalized buildings reached the media and went viral. They even got a front page on Gotham’s Gazette at the time, but its very purpose was undermined as a political tool, fueling people’s fears… and it happens that gothamites were so prone to be manipulated, to be tampered with. _Gosh, they haven't changed at all…_

The boy was sighing while looking at the pictures. Half the structures were burned and reduced to ashes during the Red Christmas like the University Museum or the Lister Center, but the Barnes Exchange and the Medical Arts on Robinson Square were still standing, still shaping the dark skyline as if nothing had ever happened there.

He used to visit the last one and hang out in its rooftop, watching the sun go down on the horizon as his legs swung back and forth on the edge.

It wasn’t a nice place nor a remarkable one. But she picked it up for something. And it was the Spoiler’s birthplace after all...


End file.
